How To Become A Pirate
by RedSavant
Summary: The way to the Grand Line is a tough one, but it's open to everyone with the courage to walk it. OC, unusual format.


**This was originally a work for my AP Lit class; the assignment was to write a sort of 'self-help' guide that eventually said more about the person writing than about the reader. I'll be the first to admit it's experimental, but please take a look and let me know what you think!**

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In order to become a pirate, you must first come to terms with the fact that the Grand Age of Piracy is here, and it's not going anywhere. You will have difficulty with this, as you met the King of the Pirates once before his execution and he was a scoundrel, if a charismatic one. Conveniently forget that you were five at the time and that you declared to your parents that night that you were going to join him aboard his mighty warship, the Oro Jackson, someday. If you wish, recall only that your parents met this news with concern, and extrapolate that now, twenty years later, into yet another reason that piracy is a childish pursuit; return to clearing plates from in front of your drunken patrons with the matter firmly settled in your mind.

Continue in this vein for some months. Take pirate beri with a smile; watch their sails until they disappear over the horizon, to ensure that they're really leaving. Be sure to serve Devil's Fruit users coolly, making sure they understand that no matter what fancy power they have been cursed with, their money is no better than the next man's. Break into shakes in the back room after these dealings if you must; it's therapeutic.

Most importantly, remind yourself that, no matter how civil or even charming some pirate crews are, no matter how – a ridiculous notion, this – in many cases they seem somehow _better_ than the World Government Marines stationed down by Mati's place, they are criminals. Everyone tells you this. Agree with them for now.

Walk around town daily. It's a small town, so you get your exercise; but more importantly, you get seen. People will recommend the inn of an acquaintance over that of a stranger. Since your parents died, you will think, business has been much better; but that will make you feel guilty.

As your coffers swell, with business only improving, you toy with the idea of settling down. This is easier than it sounds, because as soon as word gets out that the owner of the most successful inn in town is looking to marry, you will be besieged by a string of beautiful women and/or men, each of them as shallow as they are pretty. Become disillusioned with the petty life you lead in town and the petty people you deal with. Swear off human contact for a while. Buy an orange tabby kitten and a crate of high-grade rum from your savings. Raise one; down the other.

After you have regained consciousness, if not technically speaking sobriety, reopen the inn with Tiger (you are creative when drunk) by your side. Go through the motions of serving food and drinks and beds to people you despise; wave at acquaintances in the street and see only small, crushed people. Buy more rum and give Tiger a belly rub while you think of what to do. Decide you should buy more rum and mull it over a liiiittle bit longer.

Regain consciousness again and decide the experience is getting old. Sell your inn through truly massive misgivings and head for the coast (You're on an island. Pick a direction). Build a house here with most of your money; spend the rest on a dented, charred but still perfectly slicy cutlass. Tell yourself it's for self-defense.

As the days grow colder, realize that you have made a dire mistake in terms of timing. Your planted vegetables are all dead. Check anyway; make a game effort. Continue to eke out life by fishing; be damned if you slink back to town now. Let Tiger go. She will come back later, but you will be depressed until she does.

Then the fish will stop.

You didn't plan for the seasonal blizzards common to Kōrijima, and it will be hard, very hard, to survive the next month. Be sure you do, though. This is perhaps the most important part. Also, do not eat Tiger.

When the storms have passed, crack open your door just enough for Tiger to spring out into the sparkling expanse of white that is now your yard. She will disappear into the deep blanket of snow. Follow her as best you can.

After a while, when it is dark and Tiger has led you deep into the forest – you may expend some energy cursing at her if you wish; it'll warm you up – you will begin to hear laughter and song echoing through the trees. Agonize over whether to keep following Tiger. This will become a moot point several minutes later when you catch her and she claws at you. Drop her like she is hot.

You will likely feel dejected now, but don't give up. Head toward the sound of laughter as best you can. Chase it as it seems to grow louder, and softer, and begins to warp in and out of your perception. Think about taking a nap in a nearby snowbank; it's been so cold lately, and now it's warm all of a sudden. Very warm, and cozy.

Wake some time later, and realize you are genuinely warm this time. You're likely bound, but give the gentle knots a tug. They are not meant to restrain conscious patients. You will not know this.

As you struggle free, a man in medical clothing will come over to you, radiating concern. Punch him. Give him all you've got. Really. You don't know it, but he can take much more than you can dish out.

Bust out onto the deck, and take a moment to realize that the subtle swaying you felt earlier was not residual hangover but the swell of the ocean against the sides of a sailing ship. Freak out a bit should you feel thus inclined. Spend a moment fervently hoping that someone has slipped you something in the inn and that the past two months have all been a dream. When you feel ready, turn around and face the man you can hear chuckling behind you.

The first thing you will notice is the man's size – he is gigantic, at least twice your height. The second thing is his mustache. It will be a toss-up which you find more intimidating: the man's height, because he could literally step on you; or the 'stache, because such an impressive display of follicular prowess can belong to only one man: the most powerful of all pirates, the man closest to the Pirate King's legendary treasure One Piece. Edward Newgate. Whitebeard. You will suddenly be at a bit of a loss here.

Stand your ground, though, and draw your cutlass. Try to draw your cutlass. Then realize that you are naked. This is perhaps why Whitebeard is laughing at you.

"I see we picked up more than one fighter," he will boom, and his voice will shake the sky like an earthquake. Nearby, you will see a young man in jean shorts and a brightly-colored hat holding Tiger for you. Don't punch him; he's a Devil Fruit user, and besides, Whitebeard isn't done talking yet.

"Tell me, what is your name?" he will ask you. Be honest. When you have told him, he will lean back in his chair and stroke his chin thoughtfully. After a moment, he will lean back toward you.

"Look into my eyes, Roland," he will rumble. Do so. Be sure to brace yourself beforehand; you will still be nearly crushed by the full weight of this man's attention. All of a sudden you will understand with complete clarity how this man earned his reputation.

Suddenly, Whitebeard will reach out his hand. You may flinch now, but he is not going to smear you across the planks of the deck. Instead, you will feel his hand settle on your shoulder. "How about becoming my son?" he will ask.

If you absolutely must gape at Whitebeard, presumed heir to the title of King of the Pirates and the strongest human in the world, please attempt to do so with some modicum of dignity. You will not be able to. Instead, let the combination of severe frostbite, public nudity and sudden adoption – for you have already accepted, whether you think so at that moment or not – catch up to you. You may now pass out.

* * *

It will make more sense to you later, when you learn that Whitebeard considers all of his crew his children. Over time, you will come to view the vital, boisterous old man as your father, not the faded, bent innkeeper who bowed and scraped to common murderers and who reminds you too much of what you might have – had – become. Do not blame your parents. Pity them, if you must.

If you have time during all the work required to keep the Moby Dick shipshape, if you feel inclined while you work in the sun and breathe the salt sea air to revisit that cramped and murky building you left behind and all the memories associated with it, remember your idea that piracy is childish, a crime. Think: is it a crime to dream? Is it childish to laugh, and to sing, and to travel with your dearest friends the greatest ocean in the world in search of the greatest treasure in the world?

It is. It is. And you are a criminal, and you are childish.

And you are finally free.

And you are a pirate.

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**Fun to write, this was. Please drop me a review to let me know what you thought!**


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